Irish Psycho
by Dublin O'Malley
Summary: Dean's the nerd. Glasses,suspenders,pocket protector. Of course, constantly bullied. Castiel's the new kid, coming from a childhood of mixed nationalities. He's quiet, a bit standoffish and there's a rumour he's crazy. Full sum inside. DESTIEL.


**Dean's the nerd. Glasses,suspenders,pocket protector. Of course, constantly bullied. Castiel's the new kid, coming from a childhood of mixed nationalities. He's quiet, a bit standoffish and there's a rumour he's crazy. Dean wakes up and finds him sleeping in the bed beside him. Now, Castiel's his dorm mate and Dean has to find a way to get through to Castiel. The nerd and the Irish psycho? Seems legit...**

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><p><strong>Here's the first chapter to Irish Psycho. I like the idea of Dean in suspenders...mmm...Nerd!Dean needs to be a verse...<strong>

**Anyway, enjoy! xx**

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><p><strong>Irish Psycho<strong>

**Chapter 1: Random Thoughts of Us **

**Songs of the Chapter:  
>Rebels of the Sacred Heart- Flogging Molly<br>Me and the Devil- Robert Johnson  
>Little Lion Man- Mumford and Sons<br>**

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><p><em>Just this one last equation…<em>

Dean Winchester hunched over the picnic table, his pencil furiously scribbling across the page. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth in concentration, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. He wasn't going to bother with them, not right now, not while he was so close to finishing this last problem. He'd begged Mr. Singer, his uncle Bobby, actually, to give him a challenge. Bobby had grudgingly handed over the physics worksheet, knowing full well that Dean would breeze right through it.

Dean's handwriting wasn't the neatest print on Princeton Prep's campus, but it was legible. Who wants to mistake a 2 for a Z, right? As Dean wrote out the last of the forty-two character equation (meant for seniors, not sophomores), he heard and felt a loud snap on his back.

Dean clenched his pencil tightly in his fist, surprised the wood didn't crack, and hissed from the snap of his blue suspenders. Dean kept his eyes firmly planted on his paper, not daring to move as a hunk of meat thunked down beside him. Dean eyed Gordon Priestly warily out of the corner of his eye.

Gordon casually slung an arm around Dean's shoulders, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. Dean heard the snickers of his gang behind him and bit the inside of his cheek. His jaw still hurt from where Adam Miller had clocked him last week.

"Hey, Winchester. That today's math homework?" Gordon whispered into his ear. Dean pushed his square-jawed, pimply face away, his stomach turning just looking at him. Gordon was a sophomore like Dean, which Dean hated more than anything in the world. Gordon was only here because he kept the rugby team going.

"Go away, Gordon, don't you have a rent boy waiting for you in your dorm?" Dean said, turning back to his paper, circling his answer and smirking devilishly.

There had been a rumour floating around that Gordon snuck rent boy's into his room from Benny's Tavern down the street. Although Gordon was good at hiding it, Dean could easily tell that he was a closet gay. Unlike Gordon, Dean was of no sexual orientation, at least not that he could tell. He neither bisexual, nor gay, nor straight. He could admire a woman's body, but not feel anything sexual towards her. Although Dean did find men more appealing. He was just waiting for the right one, he supposed.

"Wha-what did you just say, you little fag?" Gordon fisted his hands in Dean's shirt and hauled him an impressive couple of centimetres off the ground. Dean smirked.

"Aw, Gordy, you're upset. Did I hurt your feelings? Oh, wait, was it your pride? I'm sorry if I hurt your pride, Gordy-"

THWACK!

Gordon's fist connected with Dean's nose, a sickening crack following shortly after. Dean's glasses fell to ground at Gordon's feet, landing in the moss and dirt. Damn, he'd just gotten those cleaned, too.

"I _did _hurt your pride." Dean grimaced. "That's too bad, your pride is rather large. My blow must have been the size of a grizzly bear tranquilizer dart-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Gordon threw Dean onto the picnic table, scattering his backpack, textbooks and papers everywhere. He threw himself onto Dean, hands circled tightly around Dean's throat. Dean tried to smirk through the tears pouring down his face due to the lack of oxygen.

"Gordon! Get off him! You're gonna kill him!" Adam shouted, his friends following close behind as he wrapped his arms around Gordon's beefy waist.

"Good! I wanna see the little fucker turn purple!" Gordon yelled, pressing his thumbs into the glands below Dean's jaw, effectively removing the smirk.

"What the Hell are ya doin', ya idjits?" Dean rolled his bulging eyes up towards the main school building and saw Bobby sprinting towards them, not looking in the least bit pleased. He had his usual trucker cap on and his face was red as a tomato.

Gordon looked down at Dean, who was turning an impressive shade of purple and red at the same time, then back to Bobby who had his ruler raised high, ready to bring down Hell. Gordon scrambled off Dean, who gasped and fell off the table, landing on his hands and knees on the rain-dampened Earth as he panted and gasped for breath. As oxygen whooshed back into his lungs, he loosened the tie around his neck, his throat feeling extremely constricted.

"M-Mr. Singer. We w-were just messing around with him and-"

"And _nothing_. You damn near killed him! Get the _fuck _up those steps and into the dean's office," Bobby ordered, pointing to the building with his ruler.

"But-"

"GO!" Bobby nearly screamed, veins in his neck popping out, nostrils flaring. He was pissed beyond recognition as he swatted at the boys behinds as they ran past him and up the school steps.

Dean lay on the ground, still trying to force oxygen down his throat. His neck was sore and he was sure to have bruises tomorrow. He'd already yanked off his tie and his white button-up was missing three buttons from Dean yanking desperately at the cloth.

"Dean! Damn, kid, you all right?" Bobby crouched down beside Dean and helped him sit up, Dean coughing, hacking really, and shaking from head to toe.

"B-Bobby, help me up-p," Dean stammered, reaching up to grip the edge of the table as Bobby gently helped him to his feet.

"Why the Hell was he trying to choke you to death?" Bobby asked, shoving Dean's things into his backpack, pocketing the senior worksheet to look over later.

Dean rubbed his throat and glared at the ground, letting out a small cough. "I caught him sneaking a rent boy into his room last week and I may have mentioned it today."

Bobby groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, boy, for someone with your grades, I'd expect you to be smarter than that."

Dean squatted and plucked his glasses from the ground. Gordon and his friends had stepped on them in their stampede to the dean. The right lens was cracked and the back half of the left arm was snapped. Dean calmly wiped the dirt and grass off the glass and put them back on.

_Hmm, so this is how an arachnid views the world. Interesting…_

Dean had a childish thought. _I am Spiderman! Gosh, how hard did I hit my head? Oh look, a orange breasted sparrow, it isn't even spring yet..._

"Dean! C'mon! Get your ass to the nurse. I'll drop your stuff in your room," Bobby said, interrupting Dean's random thoughts (he got them from time to time, ADHD was not fun and didn't mix well with academia, but obviously, Dean managed pretty well).

"No, don't worry about it, Bobby. I can handle them. Thanks though," Dean said, taking the backpack from Bobby and heading towards the infirmary.

"You sure, boy? You're not gonna pass out on me, are ya?" asked Bobby, throwing an arm around his nephews broad shoulders. He could easily place quarterback…if Dean was into sport. Most people overlooked him because he was shy, wore the typical geek stereotypical outfits and had no friends. Bobby sometimes pitied him. Poor kid, never had a girlfriend _or _a boyfriend.

Bobby wasn't ignorant to Dean's orientation. He knew Dean preferred men to women and he was just fine with that. He loved Dean as if he was his own son. He was a whiz at math too, so they got along just fine.

"Here you go," said Bobby as he pushed open the door. Dean smiled meekly at him.

"Thanks, Uncle Bobby." Bobby smiled and watched as Dean walked through the door, for once actually looking like a man, with grass stains on his jeans, his suspenders hanging down his thighs, his tie loose around his neck. If Bobby didn't know any better, he would have thought Dean had just come back from a football match.

Bobby growled, but he did know better; the already forming bruises on Dean's throat proved it. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, the physics professor marched towards the dean's office, determined to whip those little bastards into shape.

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><p>"Hey, Dean. Good to see you," Ellen Harvelle, the nurse greeted him. Dean smiled shyly and hopped up onto the exam table. Ellen rolled over on her stool and smiled at him.<p>

"Hi, Ellen. How's Jo been?" Dean asked. Jo, Ellen's daughter, had been a close friend of his, especially when he needed someone to talk to. She fully accepted his geekiness...most likely because she was a geek too. Thick glasses, suspenders, argyle socks. But she made it look like she was just a hipster, not a nerd, like Dean.

"She's been great, the academy's been helping her grades a lot." Jo had applied for an all-girls academy, much like Dean's all-boys academy, and had gotten accepted. She'd been so excited about it, they'd all thrown a going away party for her.

"All right. So, sit back, tell me what happened," said Ellen, gently probing at Dean's throat. Dean whimpered when she pressed her thumb into his larynx. Ellen clucked her tongue. She touched his nose briefly before rummaging in a drawer and pulling out a butterfly Band-Aid. Ah, Dean's best friend.

"I was studying, Gordon was being obnoxious and I made fun of him for bringing a rent boy to his room last week." Dean shrugged. It was the usual, though Gordon had never gotten this violent.

Ellen pressed her thumb into the back of Dean's neck. Dean hissed again, but not in pain. He'd been building up a lot of stress and tended to carry it all in his neck.

"Dean, you have a knot bigger than my hand in the back of your neck. Come on, turn around." Ellen patted Dean's thigh and he turned, letting Ellen rub soothing circles into his neck. Dean groaned, he _so _ needed this.

Ellen was like a mother to Dean and was always there when he needed her. She'd known Dean since he was in Huggies.

Ten minutes later, the knot in the back of Dean's neck gave way and he heaved a huge sigh. Picking up his backpack he smiled at Ellen, who returned it.

"Thanks, Ellen. I needed that."

"I know you did, Dean. You're working yourself too hard, try taking a break. Oh and you shouldn't eat anything too solid for a few days, you've got quite a bruise there," Ellen said, handing Dean a pair of glasses; his extra pair for days just like this.

Dean gave a sheepish smile and handed over the crushed pair currently slipping down his nose. "Bye, Ellen."

"Bye, Dean."

It didn't take Dean much time to get to his dorm, throw his backpack on the floor, kick off his shoes and face plant into his green bedspread, only to groan and turn his head at the impact on his sore nose. As he felt around for the remote to his iPod docking station, Dean toed off his socks. He hated shoes. They were uncomfortable and the shoes you were required to wear at Princeton were stiff enough that even after a year of breaking them in, they still gave Dean blisters.

Dean's hand found the remote and he hit play, letting out a content sigh when Robert Johnson filtered through the speakers. Dean rolled onto his back, arms behind his head, foot tapping idly to the beat. Dean loosened his tie and tossed it to the floor of his dorm room.

It was warm in the room, the fan above his head whirring at nearly ten miles an hour. Dean made a noise that sounded like a whine and turned over, tossing off his covers. He unclasped his belt and tossed his pants across the room, yanking his button-up over his head. He left his wife beater on, who knew, maybe Gordon would come back for revenge and 'haze' him for about the fiftieth time. It was best that he wasn't naked, just in case.

A few degrees cooler, Dean sighed and rolled back over, burying his face into the pillow, ignoring the throbbing in his nose and neck.

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><p>Castiel Collins glanced down at the paper, then back at the door number. Yep, this was the place. Castiel tried the doorknob and found it locked. He calmly pulled his key from his pocket and set down his army duffel; his brother's. He stuck the key in the lock and let out a relieved sigh when it turned. He picked up his bag again and slipped the key into his boot for safe keeping.<p>

When Castiel stepped in, he didn't know what he'd expected. Gay orgies? Rowdy parties the patrons were too lazy to interrupt? Studying? But no, he was greeted with a stifling room and a sleeping roommate. Classic blues played moderately loud; Robert Johnson, Castiel decided. Good taste.

From what little Castiel could make out in the dark, cramped dorm room, his roommate was wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a fraying white wife beater. Castiel saw his clothes strewn about the floor and silently raised an eyebrow as he eyed the suspenders and the pocket protector that were scattered at the foot of the bed.

Carefully stepping over the rumpled clothes, Castiel made his way to the bed. He sat his bag down on the floor and toed off his boots, slipping out of his jacket.

_Jesus, it's hotter than Hell in here_, Castiel thought and lay down on the green Princeton duvet. He set his glasses on the bedside table beside his roommate's and closed his eyes, hoping to catch some sleep after being on a plane for an extra eight hours.

Castiel had divided his childhood between the USA and and Lucifer (yes, his brother's name was really Lucifer) had taken it upon themselves to watch Castiel while he visited Ireland. Castiel generally liked it more there, he'd spent so much time there he was actually developing an accent. He was 30 percent American, 10 percent Russian and 60 percent Irish.

He'd flown in from a Kansas airport after sixteen hours of listening to an old woman prattle on about her boy Tommy, to the little preparatory school. His grades were astounding, but he had overheard his teachers speaking with his brother and guardian, Gabriel. They'd said he was unstable. Wouldn't talk in class, wouldn't interact with the other students, would sit alone by himself at lunch.

Castiel figured this was bound to happen. It wasn't exactly his fault, though. It was just something that happened after Michael left for college and hadnt contacted them since. Castiel had gone mute, save for short one-word answers every now and again. Most people thought he was stupid, or mentally retarded. He was neither.

Castiel liked to keep to himself because he was the only one that ever understood the crazy shit that went through his head. So, his parents had shipped him off from his small Dublin house to some private school in the the states.

And with thoughts of hatred toward his parents, Castiel fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.

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><p><strong>This is the first chapter to Irish Psycho. I may like this one, I may not. Depends on how I'm feeling by the third chapter. <strong>

**Reviews are accepted, not required, but loved.**

**Shave Less, Braid More,**  
><strong>Dublin O'Malley<strong>

**XOXOX**


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